


Golden

by musicmillennia



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Doggy Cuddles, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, More Fluff, Pets, kitty snuggles, mob boss Len
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 17:07:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8498251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicmillennia/pseuds/musicmillennia
Summary: Mick has a dog. Len has a cat. What better wingmen could they ask for?





	

**Author's Note:**

> i was watching cute animals and-and...

Mick's parole officer and therapist ganged up on him. "You should get a dog," they said. "It'll be good for you," they said.

He wanted to tell them "What am I gonna do with a damn dog?" but he had to appease them, so he cut a deal: he'd go to a shelter and check some out, and what would happen would happen. Caught on to his ways, both of them called the place they'd picked and made sure the people there knew to keep an extra enthusiastic staff member on his back the whole time. Bastards.

But even with the added annoyance, Mick still didn't have to pick a dog. He could just shake his head and leave after however many hours they made him stay there. He was gonna stick with that.

He didn't expect Ray.

As soon as a hyperactive volunteer led him into the kennel, Mick's ears were assaulted by a cacophony of barks. Every single ball of fur of every single size was pissing itself trying to get his attention, which was oddly flattering to Mick, but then again he wasn't used to being paid attention to. He told the guy, Barry, that if he was gonna get one, it'd be big. There was no way he of all people was going to keep track of a tiny yapper.

Barry happily showed him a Great Dane, two German Shepherds, a couple Labs...it seemed as if Central City's Star Shelter had every dog in the state in its walls. Each dog was brimmed with the same enthusiasm as the staff, with a few rare ones who exhibited a more mild manner like the owner, who—and Mick will never stop laughing at this—was named  _Harry_. Their tails wagged hard enough to take down a semi, eyes of all different shades fixated on Mick as if he was worth every good thing in the world. Which was just  _weird_.

Then there was the silent one in the far back.

A Golden Retriever sat well away from the bars, head down and still. When Mick came near, it didn't turn, didn't wag its tail. It was every SPCA commercial in one depressing image, and Mick couldn't help but ask.

Barry sighed. "That's Ray," he said, "he's named after how he used to be: a ray of sunshine."

"Doesn't look too sunny now," Mick said.

"He's been transferred from Starling after being returned three times. It's not him!" Barry hastily added at Mick's raised eyebrow, "Ray is—I mean, I guess you could say he's the perfect dog. Incredibly loyal, easy to train, eager to please. He's so smart, too, like. I've never seen a dog as smart as him."

"So why'd people keep sending 'im back?"

Barry sighed again. "His first owners adopted him as a puppy, and sent him back when he grew up. His second owner got a job at a lab and didn't have time to care for him, even though Ray is wonderful at adapting to people's needs and is amazingly self-sufficient when he needs to be. The third one found a cat in an alley and adopted them, but the cat didn't like dogs, so she sent him here."

Oh no.

Barry shrugged. "Seems like every time Ray finds a new home, people find a reason to put him back."

Oh  _no_.

Mick swallowed. "So he gave up."

The kid glanced away. He looked about as sad as Ray probably felt. "He hasn't been eating much lately. As you can see, he doesn't bother coming forward. Poor guy thinks he's going to get sent back again."

Ah, shit.

Mick crossed his arms. "You got keys for that door?"

Barry started. "To...Ray's?" Then he was falling over himself to pull out his jingling mass. "Yeah! Yes! Definitely! I have all the keys!  _All_ the keys! Um, here, let me just...got it! Oh wait, hang on..."

Ray didn't look up when Mick entered. He didn't turn when Mick approached him. Put himself farther into his corner when Mick sat next to him.

Mick stretched one leg out, putting an elbow on his other knee. He said to Ray, "You want someone who won't put you behind bars. I can understand that. Been behind bars myself, and it ain't fun, especially when you gotta go back in. I need a dog 'cause some people don't know when to quit. You come home with me, it's a win-win. I don't send you back, you get those bastards off my ass. Deal?"

As if he understood exactly what Mick was saying, Ray finally lifted his head. Big soulful brown eyes stared at him, and Mick really didn't know the definition of "restraint," because he told Barry right then and there he was getting this damn dog.

Mick got him a black collar with bright orange flames on it and a simple circle nameplate. He let Ray pick out what toys he wanted, and the dog not only did that, but he also took a bandanna, a red one with black sciency symbols on it. It took months for Ray to stop crying at the sight of a leash, even longer to actually realize Mick's tiny apartment was actually his too.

Now Mick threw a ball in Central's biggest park, and a floppy blanket of yipping sunshine sprinted after it. Sometimes Ray's giant ball of happy grated Mick's nerves, but damn if that dog didn't grow on you.

About eighteen months after Mick brought Ray home, an asshole in a long coat and black sunglasses got hit with the ball.

"You know," he said when Mick jogged over, "if you wanted my attention, you could've just asked."

Mick snorted and took the ball back. He whistled to Ray and made to walk away. Only this time, Ray didn't come.

The Retriever was staring at the stranger's ankles. He sometimes shuffled a little, rearing forward and back.

"Ray?" Mick asked.

The man withdrew his coat. "I believe your little friend smells mine."

Wrapped around his legs like they were its throne was a spotted cat with the brightest blue eyes Mick had ever seen. No harness or leash was attached to its blue collar, which bore snowflakes despite the mid-March weather. A painted gold heart nameplate read  _Lisa_ in excessively fancy script.

Mick looked back up, only to see that the stranger had taken off his sunglasses to reveal a human set of cat eyes—not so much in the shape as the gleam in them. Combine them with the rest of his face, and Ray could take all the time he wanted lookin' at Lisa.

"Nice cat," Mick said lamely.

The man's cold expression warmed a degree. "Yes she is." Ray barked. "And a very...hyper dog you have there."

Mick shrugged. "You get used to him."

An unimpressed hum narrowed his eyes.

"You got a problem with my dog?"

"Oh, no," the man replied, hands in his pockets, "I'm just not one for loud types."

He looked at Ray as if that wasn't all he found displeasing.

Mick bristled. "Come on, Ray," he barked, "let's leave the  _quiet types_ to it."

Ray tilted his head one more time at the stupid cat before leaving her and her stupid owner behind. Because seriously?  _Fuck_ that guy.

 

That guy appeared again. And again. And again. It seemed that every time Mick took Ray to the park, the asshole and his bitch cat were there, prowling along the winding paths. Mick did his best to ignore him, but Ray would always bound over to jump around Lisa until Mick dragged him off.

One week in early May, Mick wasn't in the mood. Granted, most of the time he wasn't in the mood to see that guy, but that week was worse than most. He'd barely been able to pay the rent, yet another job fell under his criminal record, and his parole officer was breathing down his neck to see his therapist even though Mick could barely afford Ray's food at this point. He'd gone to the park for the to escape his pathetic wallowing more than giving Ray more room to run.

Only when Mick spread his jacket under a tree and laid down, Ray didn't run. The dog sprawled against Mick, soft fur tickling his owner's skin as he snuggled and snuggled until Mick was forced to wrap an arm around him and accept his presence. They stayed like that for a while, Ray's head on Mick's chest.

Until the asshole in a long coat abandoned his usual haunt and meandered over to them like he was specifically thinking of ruining Mick's day even more with his condescending eyebrow.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," he drawled.

Mick scowled at him. "Not my fault you came over here. Fuck off."

"What a gentleman."

"There a reason you're over here other than pissing me off?"

"Your dog is finally being quiet."

Mick snarled, "I get it, he ain't good enough for you. Well he's good enough for me, and I don't need your cat-loving opinions. Now leave us alone."

The stranger smirked, as if Mick had complimented him instead. "Name's Len."

"Don't care."

Len sat beside him and leaned against the tree. Lisa nuzzled into his lap. "When I said your dog's finally being quiet, I meant that we could finally talk. Since we're seeing so much of each other, I figured it was only fair."

"Plenty of people come to this park," Mick grumbled, "why single me out?"

"Because nobody's ever hit me with a ball before."

"Not like I did it on purpose."

"And then leave without saying goodbye."

"You were lookin' down your nose at my dog. What was I supposed to do, ask for your number?"

"At least then I could've texted you to get me a coffee for hitting me."

"Yeah, well—what?"

Len stroked Lisa's fur a la Dr. Evil. "I got a bruise from how hard you threw it. Fair's fair."

Lisa stared at Mick with a sudden intensity, like she was daring him to say no. Mick had to give her credit: she could be downright terrifying.

Still, "You insulted my dog."

"If you recall, I didn't say anything other than he was loud."

Mick snapped, "Didn't have to."

Len rolled his eyes. "Ray, convince your stubborn muscle man to get me coffee."

" _The fuck did you_ —"

Ray sat up and whined at Mick.

Mick blinked. "What?"

Ray whined again. He opened his mouth and the sound carried into a half-bark.

At least Len looked just as astonished.

"No," Mick growled at Ray. He spoke over another whine, "Why are you taking  _his_ side?! I'm trying to defend you!"

Ray took the hem of Mick's shirt in his teeth and yanked.

"Ray!"

The dog startled both humans by barking a very distinct and very firm, " _Go_!"

After a bout of shocked silence, Len's smirk returned. "I take it back: I like loud types."

 

Mick refused to give Len his number. It was a matter of pride at that point.

The day after coffee, Lisa pawed at Mick's window. His third story window. From the fire escape.

She hissed when Mick offered her milk and sprawled herself all over his counter. When he tried to move her, she knocked over a pile of magazines on the coffee table and reclaimed the spot while he was distracted.

"You're a spoiled brat," Mick snapped.

Lisa responded by flicking her tail in his face and taking Ray's bed. Ray shrunk from her, hiding behind Mick's legs like the coward he was.

"You are twice her size!"

Ray whimpered and cowered from Lisa's gaze.

Mick rolled his eyes. "How did you even get here, cat? Go home!"

Lisa collapsed dramatically across the bed.

Although she swiped at Ray, she gladly let Mick close enough to examine the number of _Leonard Camden_  on her collar. Un-fucking-believable.

"Did you sic your cat on me so I'd call you?" Mick asked.

A frantic voice answered, "Mick? Is she with you then?"

Mick blinked. "You really...oh. Yeah. She's been tormenting my dog and ruining my counters."

Len let out a shaky exhale.

"Len...? Uh. You okay?" Oh, and it'd probably be good if he added, "I can give you my address."

The instant Len swept into Mick's apartment, Mick became aware of every speck of dust and take out carton. Len was always so well-dressed. Undoubtedly he wouldn't normally waste his time in this part of the city. But the man only had eyes for the purring cat trotting to him.

"Hey, Lise," Len murmured, scooping her into the crook of his elbow, "next time, leave a note."

Mick scoffed, getting Len's attention. The sheer relief on Len's face froze him in place.

"Thank you," Len said, "I owe you one."

Mick scratched the back of his neck. "She came on her own. How'd she know where I live?"

Len shot what could almost be an accusatory glare at Lisa. "She's a good hunter, despite her noticeable coloring. She's a gold Egyptian Mau," he added, a shade of pride briefly overlapping his irritation. "Probably followed you home one day and remembered the way."

"And you didn't look for her then?"

"She wanders around a lot. But she always gets back at five."

It was seven-thirty. Mick winced. "Well...I coulda called sooner."

"Why didn't you?"

"I...thought you knew where she was."

That. That sounded better in his head.

"And she kept Ray quiet."

Judging by Len's flat stare, that one was somehow worse.

Mick looked at Ray. His dog looked back—and glanced at Len.  _Go for it, pal_.

Damn dog.

"Icuhgehnuthercuffie," he mumbled.

Len tilted his head. "What?"

Mick crossed his arms. "I could get you another coffee."

"Thought I just said  _I_ owed  _you_."

"Yeah, but like I said, I coulda called sooner."

Len's eyes trailed over Mick. "That's true. But I was  _very_ worried. My cat is important to me."

Mick swallowed the rejection. Between Len's expensive suit and the shitty apartment, he wasn't surprised. "Fine. See you aro—"

"Dinner will do."

"...what?"

 

They moved in together within two months. Rather, Mick moved in with Len, because Len definitely had room. In his  _penthouse_.

"What do you do?" Mick asked. _And why the fuck did you pick_ me _?_

As Ray managed to trip himself over the sleek black granite floor—fucking  _granite_ —Len said, "I should probably tell you my real name."

Mick tensed. "What does that mean?"

"It's Leonard Snart."

Ray snuffled as he slid and rolled over himself. Lisa licked her paw from one of her many built in wall perches, unimpressed.

Mick said, "You're fucking with me."

Len smirked. "No."

"Is that why I keep getting free cheesecake at every restaurant you push me in?"

"You don't like it?"

"I fucking love it. But what the  _hell_ , Len?"

Len shrugged. "Didn't wanna spoil the surprise."

"I've been fucking Central City's godfather and you didn't wanna spoil the surprise?"

"Granted, I thought you'd recognize me from juvie."

Basically: Mick had been on the arm of the biggest crime boss in the Twins, who happened to be the same punk kid he saved from a shiv in juvie over twenty years ago. Because Mick would put that twig against this powerful man with his three-piece suits and penthouse.

And reindeer mugs. And  _Star Wars_ references. And...overly detailed plans for everything.

Holy shit. It's fucking Lenny.

Mick picked Ray off the floor and put him safely on the carpeted area in front of the windows. Then he turned and said, "You grew."

Len looked almost fond. "That tends to happen after thirty years."

"How didn't I notice?"

"Dunno. I gave you plenty of hints."

When they're done fucking between Mick's cheap boxes, Mick asked, "That make me a mob wife?"

Len ran an appreciative hand down his chest. "I was thinking partners. Like old times."

"...my parole officer's gonna be  _pissed_."

 

**Author's Note:**

> "Len, there's no such thing as a gold Egyptian Mau."  
> "You're lookin' at her."
> 
> This ended up with way more backstory than I intended. OH WELL
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
